


Sunshine on a Cloudy Day

by BreakfastLunchAndDinner



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIF Kinkmeme, Family Fluff, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Stark Family Fluff, The Starks deserve happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 17:41:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3986956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreakfastLunchAndDinner/pseuds/BreakfastLunchAndDinner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ned spends a day with Sansa. </p>
<p>For dk65, on the ASoIF Kinkmeme. </p>
<p>Prompt: <i>Where Ned has to spend a day or so keeping Sansa entertained, because the older boys (Robb, Jon and Theon) are visiting the Hornwoods; Arya is teething; Cat is pregnant with Bran and Septa Mordane has the Westerosi equivalent of the flu. So Ned has Sansa sitting in his solar, playing with her dolls and being invited to sup and dine with them. Also, he has to find her parchment for when she wants to draw and take her for walks around the castle.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>+++ Anything else a three or four-year-old can make her dad do with her.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunshine on a Cloudy Day

It was a relief to get the boys out of Winterfell.

A stomach fever had been making its rounds through the castle’s servants as of late, and though no one has died of it yet, Ned had been cautious, and ordered Maester Luwin to quarantine those who fell ill. Unfortunately, though, the disease had spread too quickly, and when Septa Mordane caught the fever, she inadvertently passed it on to his wife, little Arya, and the newborn Bran.

When they learned of this, Ned and Catelyn had immediately decided to send the Robb, Jon, and Theon to Castle Cerywn, just to be sure. The maester had said that the fever was nothing to be worried about, and that everyone who caught it would be fine within three days or so, but Ned wasn’t taking any chances. And so off the boys went, and Ned himself was confined to his suite, alone with Sansa. She was much too young to go with the boys to Castle Cerwyn, and Catelyn had asked that she be left behind.

Which was why she was now seated across him, and studying the mountains of books and ledgers on his desk with curious blue eyes. 

“Papa,” she asked, eyes wide, “do you _have_ to read all of these papers?” 

Ned looked up from the ledger he had been perusing. “Yes, Sansa.” he replied, amused. “As the Lord of Winterfell, it’s important that I know everything that happens in the castle. So Vayon, Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, and everyone else writes me these reports, to inform me of these things if they can’t tell me face to face.” 

“Does mother have to read all these things too?” Sansa wrinkled her nose, and the expression on her face was so like Robb’s when forced to eat his brussel sprouts that Ned nearly laughed. “But it all looks so very boring! There are so many words and numbers and they’re all small and _there aren’t any pictures, papa_!” 

“Yes, your mother reads ledgers too, Sansa.” he replied, as gravely as he can while fighting off a grin. “It is part of her duty as the Lady of Winterfell, and one day, when you become the lady of your lord husband’s castle, I imagine you will have to read all sorts of ledgers and books too.” 

His daughter looked thoroughly put out for a moment, before drawing herself up primly. “I suppose I will have to practice reading more, then, if I will do this when I grow up.” she announced very seriously.

A beat passed, and she added : “Although _my_ books and ledgers will have more drawings than _yours_ , papa.” 

~

An hour of quiet work later, and Ned was suspicious. Children shouldn’t be this quiet in the morning, should they? Or maybe it was just because Sansa was the most Southron of all his children, and hence had the best manners. Or maybe he was just too used to Robb and Jon. The gods knew that the last time he’d given the pair a sheet of inventories to read through was a complete failure. 

He snuck a look at his daughter behind another missive from the Night’s Watch. Sansa was hard at work, face screwed up in concentration as she - scribbled on the lists with her charcoal?!

He cleared his throat. “Sansa,” he said cautiously, “would you like to tell me what you are doing?” 

Sansa looked up, a look of supreme annoyance on her face. “Not now, Papa, I’m not finished yet!” she whined. “You’ll see it when I’m done!” 

“Of course, of course.” he assured her hastily. Sansa went back to drawing on the lists. 

Oh gods. Sansa was drawing on Vayon Poole’s inventories. Ned rubbed at his temples. His steward was not going to be happy about having a four-year-old’s drawings all over the margins of his supplies inventory. He would just have to rewrite them all on fresh parchment later this evening then, and send it back tomorrow with his apologies. Maybe he could tell Vayon that he had spilled wine all over the papers - 

“There, I’m done.” Sansa chirped, hopped off her chair, and dashed over to Ned’s side of the desk. He scooped her up onto his lap. 

“See, Vayon will be confused if there are no pictures.” she said, spreading out her work on the desk. “So I drew him some pictures beside the list. Here are carrots, parsnips, and radishes -” she gestured to a group of… long things… which were in no way identifiable as either carrots or parsnips or radishes in her charcoal drawing - “and then the strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, blackberries -” a group of… round things… this time, which were, again, in no way identifiable as any particular berry - “and then here are the cabbages, and brussel sprouts, and celery -”

“Sansa.” he interrupted. 

Sansa beamed up at him. “Do you like my pictures, papa?”

He hesitated, and Sansa’s face fell. 

“Of course they’re lovely, Sansa!” he lied hurriedly, “It’s just that, well, don’t you think Vayon will be upset that you drew on his lists without his permission?” 

Her lower lip began to wobble, and her blue eyes began to water dangerously. “B-But, I only did it to help him! I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings!” 

Ned’s mind raced through his catalog of tried and tested strategies to avert the incoming crisis. “How about this,” he hedged, “why don’t we take some paper, and you can draw your pictures bigger, and label them? We can bind it up and give it to Vayon later, when he comes up for his meeting with me." 

Sansa considered it for a moment, while he held his breath. 

Finally, she broke out into a wide smile. 

“That’s a wonderful idea, papa!” she beamed.

Ned released his breath, relieved. “Then why don’t you go and take some paper from the cupboard over there?” She scrambled off his lap and rushed to the corner. “Take only what you need, Sansa. We shouldn’t be wasteful.” he called out sternly after her. 

“Alright, papa!” she called back, the cupboard already open and an array of parchments and papers spread out in front of her. 

Ned sighed, pulled out a sheet of paper of his own, and began to rewrite Vayon’s list. 

~

Truth be told, Ned had few skills that he was quite confident in. His swordsmanship was above average at best, but when pressed Ned knew he could rely on his sword hand as well as he could depend on anything. He wasn’t the best lord either, but he held his father’s and Jon Arryn’s teachings close to his heart at all times, and they have yet to fail him in the six years he has been Lord of Winterfell. 

Usually, he would count his skill at parenthood among those he could be most proud of. He and Catelyn always knew where each of the children are, what they are supposed to be doing, how they should be disciplined should they be doing something they shouldn’t, and so forth. But when a pair of serving girls came to his solar, with a box nearly too large for the both of them to carry, he was at a loss. 

He had no idea where his daughter got all of these dolls. 

“Thank you, Shyra. Thank you, Bandy.” Sansa was saying sweetly. “I hope your papa gets better soon.” 

“He’s already on the mend, milady.” mumbled one of the twins. They set the box of toys down by the dining table in front of the fire, and, with a hasty bow to Ned, left. 

Sansa sat down daintily by the box, and began to take out tea cups, saucers, a teapot, and even a cake stand, as Ned watched, perplexed. A gaggle of dolls followed, which Sansa set at each of the chairs with a teacup in front of each, and then finally sat down at the head. She looked at her father expectantly. 

It occurred to Ned that he had never really sat down to play with Sansa. Yes, whenever Sansa had been at the training yard, he would play dragons, knights, and princesses with her and the boys, but never with just her. He would take Robb out riding with his new pony, and Jon to the godswood to play, but he and Sansa had no special activity to share between the two of them. 

He got up from his desk, and moved to the remaining unoccupied seat at the table, across from Sansa. She beamed, and got up to curtsey. 

“Welcome to our tea party, Lord Stark!” she bubbled. “Lady Alys, Aregelle, Arana and I were very disappointed that you were unable to come to the tea party last week, but we are so very glad to have you today!” She sat back down, and flourished her hand to the empty, but impeccably decorated, table. “Please, help yourself to biscuits and tea, my lord.” 

“I am very glad to be here.” Ned replied, as gallantly as he could. “If I may,” - he was suddenly struck with inspiration - “I would like to gift you ladies with some foods I have gathered from my travels. If you would excuse me, I must needs speak to my steward to see to the preparation, Lady Sansa, Lady… Alys, Aregelle, and Arya.” 

“Arana.” Sansa corrected. “And of course, my lord, you need not excuse yourself in your own castle! The ladies and I will just talk amongst ourselves while waiting; Lady Aregelle has yet to tell me about her trip to Volantis!” 

Ned smiled, a twinkle in his eye, and got up to bow to all the “ladies” present at the table. Then he hurried to the kitchens, harangued Gage into giving him half of the pastries the cooks had managed to make so far that morning, and asked Bandy and Shyra to take them up in the best silver trays. Then, with that settled, he went back upstairs to join Sansa and the rest of her party while they prepared his little surprise.

~

“Your tea set is quite exquisite, Lady Sansa.” he remarked as he sat down. And it was - an enameled pink tea set that looked imported from Essos, and he had no idea where it came from. 

“Thank you, Lord Stark. It was a present from my lord grandfather, when my sister the Lady Arya was born.” 

Oh, yes. The large box of toys that Lord Hoster had sent while he was away at Pyke. Robb had received a rather ornate wooden sword from his grandfather then too. 

“He must’ve gone to great lengths to obtain this tea set for you, my lady. This fine work can only have come from Essos, or maybe Dorne. I hope you remembered to thank him when he sent it.” 

Sansa wasn’t fazed. “Oh, Mama, Robb, and I wrote a long letter to Grandfather to thank him when we received it. Arya cried a lot when we were writing, I think she didn’t like being left out - I mean, my lady mother, my lord brother Robb, and I wrote a letter to my grandfather the Lord Tully when -”

She was interrupted by a knock on the door, and the twins came in bearing two silver trays laden with tea and pastries. Even Ned was impressed. Gage had made a lovely raspberry and blood orange cake with the last of the oranges from the shipment from the Reach, and of course, he had included lemon cakes, Sansa’s favorite. Sansa’s eyes were as round as her enameled saucers as she watched the twins arranged the cakes and sandwiches on her cake stand. 

“They’re so _pretty_!” she breathed, entranced. Ned hid a smile behind his teacup, and inwardly congratulated himself on his stroke of genius. 

“All made from the best citrus fruits of the Reach, my lady. And the tea is the finest kind, all the way from Braavos. My bannerman from White Harbor, Lord…?”

“Manderly!” Sansa supplied, watching with wonder as Shyra cut the pretty pink cake into pieces. 

“Yes, Wyman Manderly is the Lord of White Harbor.” Ned said, pleased at Sansa’s progress in her lessons. “Lord Manderly sent the tea as a gift a few months ago. Sansa, mind your manners.” 

Apologetically, she set down her fork, and thanked Shyra and Bandy for giving her a slice. The serving girls just smiled at her indulgently - Sansa was a darling child, and it was very easy to love her - curtsied, and left the room giggling. 

The cake was excellent - he must remember to compliment Gage later - and the food was made even more enjoyable by the spark of happiness in Sansa’s eyes as she chattered on about Lady Aregelle’s trip to Volantis. 

~

Feeding Sansa so much cake was a mistake.

This was probably why Catelyn forbade Sansa from having food at her tea parties at all, Ned mused, as he went through another attempt at convincing Sansa to lay down for her afternoon nap. He really shouldn’t have let her eat two slices of the raspberry cake, and half the lemon cakes as well. Sansa had turned into a demon of childish energy not long after their tea party, and had insisted on a “short walk” through the glass gardens to pick some flowers. What Ned hadn’t anticipated was that Sansa could be worse than Robb and Jon combined, and in the half hour they spent outside, he had thoroughly exhausted himself trying to prevent her from hurting herself with her little garden shears while running around the rose bushes.

And _of course_ she was difficult during the midday meal – her appetite had been completely ruined by all the sweets they had consumed, and she refused to touch her venison stew. And even when he begged, pleaded, and cajoled her into eating, she only deigned to eat the venison, and ignored her carrots entirely.

“Please, Sansa,” he begged for the fifth time, “you know you’re to sleep after your midday meal. Please lay down on the divan already?”

“Papa, I already told you! I don’t want to sleep!” she complained for the fifth time. “Are _you_ going to take a nap?”

“No, but –“

Sansa threw a fit. “So why do _I_ have to?! Mama always makes me sleep in the afternoon, but I’m not tired I’m not tired I’m not tired!!!”

“Alright, alright, alright!” Ned yelped over Sansa’s tantrum. “I will allow you to forgo your nap. But I have to work now, so you’re to entertain yourself. Do you understand, Sansa?”

Her red curls bounced as she nodded fervently. “I promise I won’t bother you, Papa.”

“Good.” Ned said, as sternly as he could. “You may sit down at that table and draw, if you wish. I have many letters I need to write and send, so I would appreciate it very much if you take care not to disturb me, little lady.”

“Yes Papa. I promise I shall be as quiet as a mouse.”

Wearily, Ned trudged back to his desk. Vayon’s inventories needed to be rewritten, and he still had to write to all his bannermen about the state of their people’s health. Disease was always rampant the first year of a change in season, and the fever going through Winterfell presently was but the first of the illnesses Ned was expecting.

He was halfway through his letter to the Greatjon when, as he expected she would, Sansa broke her promise.

“Papa,” she began, working on binding her drawings for Vayon, “Robb and Jon always play sworn swords with me after the midday meal.”

“So that is why the boys are always late for their lessons with the maester in the afternoon.” Ned grumbled distractedly. He sealed the letter with gray wax, and stamped it closed.

“Yes, they always have to stop playing because of their lessons.” Sansa scowled.

Ned reached for another sheet of paper, and addressed it to Lady Dustin.

“Robb is always my sworn sword, Papa, and Jon is always the evil knight trying to steal me away.”

“It is nice of them to make it a point to spend time with you.” He signed the parchment, sealed and stamped it, then to the pile of finished letters it went. Thank the gods the maester had been so kind as to write all these inquiries for him. His entire hand would be ink stained if he had to write them all himself.

“But Arya is too young to play for now, so I don’t have a lady-in-waiting yet!”

Ned grunted absent-mindedly. Lord Karstark, sign, seal, stamp, pile.

“Although I suppose she shouldn’t always be the lady-in-waiting; I’ll give her a turn as the princess too.” She added graciously.

“You should.” Lord Flint, sign, seal, stamp, pile.

“But for now, I have no one to play my lady-in-waiting!”

“That’s nice.” Lord Hornwood, sign, seal, stamp, pile.

“Papa!” Sansa shouted.

Ned jumped. “Yes, my love?”

There were tears in her eyes, and Ned immediately panicked. “What is it, sweetling?”

“You weren’t supposed to say ‘that’s nice’, Papa!” she wailed plaintively. “You were supposed to say ‘I’m sorry to hear you don’t have a playmate, Sansa. I think I should like to play your lady-in-waiting’!”

He had no idea how to respond to this. “B-but Sansa. Well. I am not a lady, so I don’t think I can –“

“Please, please, _please_ play with me, Papa! I’ll even let you be the princess! I’ll be your lady-in-waiting and choose your dress and braid your hair and weave a crown of flowers into it and everything!”

“But I am not a lady, Sansa. I think I would make a better sworn sword, don’t you agree?”

“No you won’t!” she whined.

“Why ever not?” Ned protested, slightly stung. “Your father is among the best swordsmen in Westeros, you know.”

“I don’t care! I already _have_ a sworn sword, papa, it’s _Robb_! You weren’t listening!”

“Well, whether I am to play your lady-in-waiting or your sworn sword, I still must decline.” He gestured towards his desk. “I have a lot to do.”

“I told you, papa, you can be the princess!” Sansa clambered down from her chair and ran to Ned’s side. “I’ll be your lady-in-waiting, so you don’t even have to move from your chair. I’ll stand on a stool and then put flowers in your hair while you work!”

“But we haven’t got any flowers –“

“Don’t be silly, papa, we went out to get some this morning, remember? Wait, I’ll go get them!”

She dashed off.

Two sealed letters later, and Sansa returned, carrying an armful of flowers.

~

Apart from the fact that he had flowers, ribbons, and braids in his hair, his afternoon with Sansa had passed quite pleasantly.

Sansa was surprisingly focused, and worked very quietly as she snipped the ends off ribbons, cut flowers into the appropriate length, and tucked them all in his hair. Discounting the instances he was pricked by the blue roses, it felt quite nice, actually. And, as Sansa had promised, he didn’t have to move from his chair, so he still managed to get most of his work done. The letters were all signed and set aside for the maester to send; Vayon’s inventory was rewritten; all correspondence addressed to him was read and the replies duly written. All that was left to do was to go over the books, and the tea trade proposal that Lord Manderly had sent.

He was so engrossed in his work that when there was a sharp knock at his solar’s door, he didn’t think twice before he barked “Come in.”

The door opened, and Vayon stepped in.

“My lord, have you read through the inventories –”

Vayon cut off abruptly. Ned looked up, concerned, and was puzzled at the look of incredulity writ all over his steward’s face.

Then he remembered that his hair was braided, and he was wearing a crown of flowers, and he had ribbons woven through his hair.

He felt his face freeze up in mortification.

“M-My lord?”

“Vayon!” Sansa squealed. “Don’t you think Princess Papa’s hair is pretty?”

“Er. Umm.”

“Don’t you?” Sansa asked earnestly.

Vayon folded. “Um, yes, my lady, Lord Stark’s hair is quite… lovely.” He answered uncertainly, not meeting Ned’s eyes.

“No, not Lord Stark!” she corrected. “ _Princess_ Papa, don’t you see his crown?”

“Ah.” Vayon shuffled his feet. “Well. _Princess Stark’s_ crown is also… lovely.”

Sansa beamed. “Oh! And Vayon!” She hopped off her stool, and rushed towards the dining table. “I saw your inventories, and they didn’t have any pictures!”

“Well – they’re inventories, so they don’t need pictures – ”

His daughter stopped in his tracks to stare at Vayon. “Don’t need pictures?!” she asked, aghast. “But then they’d be dreadfully boring, don’t you think, Your Grace?” She swiveled to look at Ned.

Ned cleared his throat awkwardly. “I – well. I suppose.”

“See?” Sansa said triumphantly. “Princess Papa agrees with me! They’re very boring, Vayon, so I drew you some pictures to go with them!” She hurried to the table, grabbed her bound-up drawings, and presented them to Vayon proudly.

“I drew some pictures of the things in the inventory, and then labeled them. This way, you won’t be confused anymore when you count the vegetables in the stores.” She explained, showing the steward her drawings.

“They’re very… lovely, my lady.” Vayon lied through his teeth. Ned had seen the pictures. He knew Vayon was lying.

“Here. They’re my gift to you.” Sansa handed the pictures to Vayon pompously.

“Er. Thank you, Lady Sansa.”

Ned cleared his throat again, and caught Vayon and Sansa’s attention. He saw Vayon’s eyes dart to his hair, to the flowers, to his eyes, and then to the floor, and another wave of embarrassment hits him.

“Vayon. You had some business?” He asked stiffly, in his best lord’s voice. He pasted on his best, gravest, and most severe lord’s face to accompany it.

“Ah, well. My lord, I wanted to know –”

“ _Princess._ ” Sansa interrupted.

Vayon looked at him uncertainly, and Ned gave a tiny jerk of his head.

“Erm. My… princess, I wanted to ask if you have read through the inventories, and if your orders were ready.”

“Yes, I am finished. We will need to order more candles, vinegar, and sugar. Tell Gage to dry, candy, and jam the berries we won’t be able to consume, before they all rot. The vegetables are to be pickled. We can get whatever we need fresh from the nearby farms – the ones we have, we should preserve for any snow-ins for the rest of the spring.”

“Of course. Is there anything else?” 

“We will need more iron too. Mikken was asking me to order more. He’d used most of his stock during the Greyjoy Rebellion, forging swords for the soldiers. And see about getting him an apprentice, or a helper of sorts. He can’t handle all of the castle’s forging alone.”

“Right, right.” Vayon acknowledged.

“Oh, and speak to Maester Luwin. He said something about needing more medicine. I know he was planning to write the Tully’s maester, but see if he needs help in this matter. I imagine he’s very busy, so please see to it that he receives all the assistance he requires.”

“Of course, my Lord. Will that be all?”

“Yes. I’ve written out all of the things we will need to acquire.” He handed the sheet of paper to Vayon, along with the inventory he rewrote. “I’ve also had to rewrite your inventory. I accidentally spilled wine over it during the midday meal.”

Vayon nodded, but then his eyes fell to Ned’s desk. Ned followed his gaze – right onto Vayon’s original inventory, sitting innocently on top of his desk, winestain-free, but filled to the margins with childish scribbles.

He met Ned’s eyes, face grave but eyes full of mirth.

A beat passed. Ned blinked, and jerked his elbow forward.

His wineglass toppled over, and spilled its contents all over the parchment.

He coughed. “I misspoke. I meant to say ‘I accidentally spilled wine over it.’ My apologies, Vayon.”

“Right, right. If that’s all, my lord, I’ll take this down to the kitchens, and inform Gage of your orders. I’ll send Shyra to clear up the dishes as well.” He gave a short bow, and turned to exit. 

Ned buried his face in his hands, and willed himself to melt into a puddle. 

~

It wasn’t long after dinner when Sansa began to yawn, and her eyelids began to droop. 

In truth, Ned had been expecting this since Vayon left his solar that afternoon. He’d caught Sansa dozing on her chair, her little hand still gripping her charcoal over some paper. But when he’d woken her, and tried to get her down for her long overdue nap, she insisted vehemently that she wasn’t tired, no, she could still go out with Papa on his rounds. 

Ned had let her come with him, on the condition that they remove the flowers and ribbons from his hair. Sansa had pouted and pleaded with him to keep it on, but in the end she had agreed. They put the flowers in a little vase, and the two of them had brought it to Maester Luwin, and asked him to place the flowers by Catelyn’s bed. 

“Are you tired, Sansa?” he asked from his desk. Sansa was still on the table, trying to finish a new set of drawings (swords, bows, arrows, armor, and the like this time, for Ser Rodrik).

“Y-yes.” Sansa yawned. 

“Let’s go to bed, then.” 

To his relief, Sansa nodded, and she followed him to his bedroom sleepily. Ned rarely ever used his own rooms anymore - these days, he was more often found sleeping in his wife’s chambers - but he had seen to it that the servants had changed the sheets, replaced the candles, and lit the fire in his rooms tonight. 

Someone had the foresight to lay out Sansa’s nightdress on the divan. He helped Sansa wash up, into her gown, and tried to put her to bed on the divan. 

Of course, Sansa would choose then to object. 

“I can’t sleep here, Papa.” she said, while Ned was arranging the furs on the divan. 

He turned to look at his daughter. “Why not? I know it’s a little small, but then you are also small. If you like, we can think of it as a Sansa-sized bed, even if it’s just for a few days.”

“No,” Sansa insisted, “it’s not a bed. It’s a divan. Divans aren’t for sleeping, they’re for lounging and napping. Mama told me.” 

“But napping is just like sleeping, but only in the afternoon.” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “There really isn’t any difference between sleeping and napping, so I’m sure you can sleep on the divan.” 

“But I want to sleep on your bed, papa.” she pouted. “You have curtains and everything, and in the pictures in Septa Mordane’s books, the princesses always sleep in beds with curtains.”

Maybe Sansa was a little upset that she hadn’t gotten to be the princess that afternoon. Well, Ned supposed he could indulge her. 

“Alright then. Would you like me to read you a story before you sleep?” 

“No.” Sansa yawned. “But a good night kiss?” 

Ned smiled. “Of course, sweetling.” He kissed the top of her head. “Good night, Sansa. I’ll just do another round of the castle, and then I’ll come back here to sleep, alright?” 

“Alright. Good night, papa.” 

Sansa was asleep within seconds.

~

After going through the last bits of business he needed to finish for the day, he stopped by the nursery to check on Catelyn and the other children. He really shouldn’t be in this wing of the castle - the maester had quarantined the sick for a reason, after all - but he couldn’t help it. He wouldn’t be able to sleep without being assured of their well-being. 

They were all sleeping peacefully. Thank the gods they were all feeling better now. Last night had been a nightmare - Catelyn, Arya, and Bran had all been retching and coughing miserably, while he had to reassure Robb, Jon, and Sansa that their mother and their siblings were going to be fine. 

He went back to his rooms, and prepared to go to sleep. 

The only problem was, Sansa was a very… active sleeper. It was a large bed, yes, but between Sansa’s rolling, and kicking, and - 

He got up, and moved to the divan. 

It was very Sansa-sized.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the [ASoIF Kinkmeme prompt on LJ](http://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/22515.html?thread=15706355#t15706355). I've made some minor edits before cross-posting to AO3. 
> 
> The title was taken from _My Girl_ by The Temptations.
> 
> All forms of critique are welcome, and will be appreciated!


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